


When Your Best is Not Enough

by MADR1D1SMO



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, I forgot to post this, more ronaldo-centric than it may seem, spain nt, this is more a personal rant than a fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 06:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12150729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MADR1D1SMO/pseuds/MADR1D1SMO
Summary: post-italy/spain drabble





	When Your Best is Not Enough

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of….forgot I wrote this? I apologise in advance, this is pretty intense, but I was absolutely livid at all the booing Geri received during the match. The Bernabéu has some pretty serious problems that need to be sorted out. Spoiled fans, honestly

The moment they’re off the pitch, Geri marches toward the dressing rooms, not willing to spend one second longer on the godforsaken pitch. The stadium is celebrating, and he knows that he should be happy too, but he doesn’t feel like they won. Madridistas are the first to talk about how Barcelona is _Spain_ and he’s _Spanish_ but they never make him feel at home, no - they never make him feel like anything but the enemy, even when they’re all wearing the same colours. He isn’t sure what it causes him to feel more - anger, disappointment or sadness. Maybe a combination of all three at once. Either way - right now he’s feeling tired more than anything else.

“Geri.. Gerard!” He can hear Sergio’s voice from behind him calling his name - Sergio Ramos out of all people - but he acts like he didn’t hear him and enters the locker rooms.

When they’re already inside, Jordi comes up to him, places a gentle hand on his shoulder, murmurs into his ear to ask if he’s okay. Nothing is really okay, but they won and they’re supposed to be happy - Geri doesn’t want to be the killjoy, doesn’t want to ruin the mood, so he plasters on a smile, slaps Jordi on the back and promises him that he’s great.

He manages to put the act up only until Sergio stomps into the dressing room, bursting through the door. His eyes scan the locker room, stopping when they land on Geri.

“Gerard,” He marches over, uncaring about the eyes of the entire room on them. There’s a weird tension in the air, the dressing room is completely still and silent, like they didn’t just beat Italy 3-0. Everyone is afraid of the storm that might come after that. “I..” Sergio throws his hands up and lets them drop back down by his sides. His mouth opens and closes, struggling to let any sound come out of it. From the corner of his eye, Geri can see Andrés stand up slowly, ready to come and pull them apart if anything happens. But all of that is swept away when the words finally stumble out of Sergio’s mouth.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” He breathes out weakly. “I tried, really - you know I did. And Dani, Lucas, they all tried too; we told them not to..” He trails off, exhaling heavily. He sounds lost and helpless, so unlike the confident persona he was just moments earlier on the pitch. “I don’t know why they do it.”

Geri presses his lips into a dry smile. He wants to be touched by this - when has Sergio Ramos _ever_ apologised to him about something? Not to mention something he isn’t directly to blame for - but it’s hard, it’s hard when he’s still feeling this numb. “It’s okay.”

Sergio doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm in his voice, but he does pick up on the lie. “It’s _not_.” He insists “It’s not okay, you’re not supposed to whistle at your own team.”

Geri shrugs. Maybe acting unaffected is not the best tactic in this case, but he has no energy to deal with it, not right now. What Sergio is doing is _nice,_ in theory, but he really wishes he would just drop the subject already.

Sergio worries his bottom lip, measuring the next words before he lets them slip out. “I know what this feels like..” He begins hesitantly, like he isn’t sure how Geri would take it. “Sevilla-”

“It’s _not_ the same fucking thing.” Geri cuts him off harshly. He’s starting to realise only now just how upset he is - and it’s really not fair to be lashing out at Sergio like this, but everything inside him is boiling and he can’t stop himself from saying it. “You have no idea what this feels like.”

“Then what do you _want_ from me?” Sergio explodes. His tone is angry but the look in his eyes is helpless and frustrated.

“I don’t want anything from _you_.” Geri stands up, grabs his duffel bag and marches toward the exit. He’ll shower in the hotel, he decides. Just before he comes out he swirls around. And then, because apparently he has no filter, “Congrats on the assist.”

 

He feels better as soon as he’s lying in the quiet hotel room, any scent of the bloody stadium washed away by the cold water. It’s dark in the room, but he doesn’t feel like turning the lights on, so he pulls the curtains open; only to be greeted by Madrid’s blinding lights. Geri stares at the city for a moment.

It takes him half a minute to make the decision and three minutes to pack his things and come down to the lobby. Their flight to Liechtenstein is tomorrow anyway, he might as well save himself the trouble and take a plane over there right now.

He texts Jordi to let him know where he is, tells the hotel to call a taxi for him and asks the driver to drop him off at the VIP entrance - the least thing he needs right now is to stumble upon a group of madridistas on his way to the plane.

But fate must really hate him, because as soon as he enters the seating area he spots a familiar figure. He’s sitting in the middle of the bench, one leg crossed over the other, eyes on the phone at his hands. There’s nobody in the zone except for them; he hasn’t actually seen him yet, and Geri is tempted to just grab his things, bolt out of the room and cancel the flight.

But a second later Ronaldo looks up and then it’s too late to do any of that. He looks taken aback for a second but then the expression is replaced by the infamous million-dollar smile.

“Gerard, what a pleasant surprise.” The forward murmurs. “What brings you here?”

Geri presses his lips together, tightens his grip on his duffel bag and flops down on the farthest seat from Ronaldo. They aren’t friends, not even colleagues, he doesn’t owe him any explanations. Ronaldo isn’t searching for any, apparently, because he just keeps talking, ignoring the animosity Geri’s entire being is radiating in his direction.

“I thought your flight to Liechtenstein is tomorrow? Huh, go figure, Sergio has never been good with dates. Either way, we have a game soon too, the rest of the squad is already there but I was given permission to fly out a bit later because I had some unfinished business in Madrid.” He explains - despite not being asked - and flashes Geri a blinding smile.

Geri shoots him a glare, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling through it aimlessly. Maybe if he keeps ignoring him the other will just shut up.

He can feel Ronaldo’s gaze on him, loud and insistent. It’s hard to not feel it, the forward is good at letting his presence be known.

“I watched the match.”

Geri can almost feel a vein in his head exploding. “Congrats.” He shoots dryly without looking up. “Do you want a medal or something for caring about somebody who isn’t you?” It’s harsh and unnecessary, but there are two major factors playing here - A) he’s upset, Ronaldo should _see_ it, should see that he isn’t in the mood for teasing, and B) he knows Ronaldo - not in the ways that count, but he does - and he knows that the guy has an incredibly thick skin, so he isn’t worried about the insult getting to him.

It doesn’t, as predicted. Ronaldo chuckles, and Geri doesn’t put it beyond him to answer with something like _a medal would be nice_. What he says next, however, surprises him.

“You should call Sergio,” Ronaldo says, his voice a bit softer “He sounded pretty upset when we last talked.”

Geri inhales sharply, looks up from his phone and stares at Ronaldo. “And _you_ should keep yourself out of other people’s business.” He glances at his phone again to check the time. There’s still thirty minutes left until his flight, he could just go and wait them out in a different place. Geri grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder and stands up, heading toward the next gate. He doesn’t get too far when Ronaldo’s voice stops him.

“You know who else gets booed in the Bernabéu day in, day out, despite doing his only and very best to make the fans happy every damn day of his life?”

Geri closes his eyes. He wants to just walk away and call this conversation finished but the words hit just a tiny bit too close to home. He opens his eyes, exhales and turns around to face Ronaldo. The Portuguese is standing now, hands in his pockets, a cold, dangerous glimmer in his eyes.

“Me. Me, who’s never uttered a single bad word about Real. Me, who hasn’t given a single reason to believe that I am anything but loyal to this club since day one. Me, who’s supposed to be the _star_ of this place.” He takes a step closer, and if Geri didn’t know better he would never pick up on the hurt behind the bitterness in his voice. “Ronaldo didn’t score for longer than two matches? Must be not trying hard enough; let’s boo him. Ronaldo is missing good opportunities? Must be lazing around; let’s boo him. Ronaldo is trying his hardest? Well, that’s not enough, this is Madrid after all - let’s boo him. It’s his own fault that he set the bar so ridiculously high that now we expect a hat-trick from him every match.”

Ronaldo shrugs carelessly and makes a vague gesture with his right hand with an astonishingly practiced calmness; almost like the Ronaldo he is talking about is some other guy with his own problems, definitely not him.

“Madrid has it’s problems,” he continues and Geri is surprised to find himself actually _listening_ “Madrid has a lot of problems. I’m not the only one, too, Gareth gets whistled every once in a while, Karim does as well. Raúl, Guti, Zidane - they’ve all had their own fair share. The fans are always hungry, unsatisfied, wanting more.” He looks Geri over, studying his stance, and then lets his gaze go back to meet his eyes. “So don’t think you’re special. It’s not about you. Madrid doesn’t have a problem with you; it has a problem, period. If anything, you should be grateful that you play for a club with fans that actually know how to appreciate commitment.”

He raises a hand and glances at his watch. “My flight is right now,” he says then, in a ridiculously calm voice, like Geri imagined the entire conversation they just had there “so you can stay here.” He grabs his bags, flashes Geri another practised smile and starts walking slowly toward the gate. When he passes by Geri, he places a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look. “Do call Sergio, though.”

When he’s gone, Geri sits down and stares at his hands. _You’re not special_ was worded like an insult, an accusation, but the only thing he’s really feeling at this moment is pure relief. Geri pulls out his phone and looks at the screen. It’s still not too late to cancel the flight.

He dials a number and presses it to his ear. Sergio picks up on the second ring.

“Geri?”

Geri huffs into the speaker. “You won’t believe who I just met right now.” He shakes his head, even though the other can’t see him. “But anyway, wanna come pick me up from the airport?”

 

* * *

 

 

A few parts from a  [_great_ _article_ about Madridistas whistling Ronaldo](https://www.theguardian.com/football/blog/2017/apr/19/cristiano-ronaldo-real-madrid-fans-whistle-genius) (if you don’t have time for the entire article at least read these few parts):

_     There are supposed to be about 1,300 words in this article. It is tempting to just spend 1,287 of them listing the things that Cristiano Ronaldo has done at Real Madrid – and there are more than enough of them to take up all that space, that is for sure, from the two Champions League titles to the 395 goals – and then leave just enough room at the bottom to add: “On Tuesday night at the Santiago Bernabéu some Real Madrid fans whistled him. Dicks.” _

_      Aren’t supporters supposed to, well, support? It is not like Ronaldo – arguably the most relentless, self-made footballer of his generation – lacks commitment. There is hurt in his words: “I only ask them not to whistle because I always give my best in every game.” _

_      Ronaldo once suggested Madrid would be in a better position “if everyone was at my level”. That kind of comment does not go down well but what if he is right? Look at his contribution and he has a point; he is entitled to think he has done his bit – enough to be appreciated, enough not to be whistled. He is emotional but when you have scored more goals than anyone else in the club’s history it must be odd to observe the affection the fans feel for you is not unanimous. _

_ _

**Author's Note:**

> Can you simultaneously be in the Cristiano Ronaldo defence squad and in the Gerard Piqué defence squad? Hit me up if you wanna join  
> I’m working on a bunch of stuff for cressi week + i have some msn-related fics going on, so stay tuned


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